For the last few weeks I haven't slept.
I've always had chronic insomnia, but I usually stick to
reading or listening to music, that kind of thing.
I was chatting to a friend in London recently and they told me
that when they can't sleep, they go for a walk around the city.
There's something about sitting by the fountains in Trafalgar
Square that soothes them, something about the way the
light bubbles around the water, that fleeting moment of strange
stillness in a place that is never really still at all.
I live in a little village by the river in Rural England.
One of those is mainly populated by older adults who spent their
youth walking to school through 7 feet of snow uphill and are
determined that you should know about it.
There's a church, a post office, a little shop in a park.
That's your lot. Don't get me wrong, it does me
just fine. I moved here because I like the
quiet after all. But except on Friday and
Saturday nights, when the few teens in the village are let out
to play for the evening, the town is pretty much dead by
11:00 PM. That's why I thought I would be
okay taking a midnight stroll the next time I couldn't sleep.
Unlike in London where I would be terrified of being mugged or
worse, you walk around a quintessentially English country
village at night and are more likely to be harassed by an over
enthusiastic badger than anything else.
The clock strikes 3:00 in the morning, and I have been awake
for hours. I tried everything I know how to
try, and I'm at the point of staring at the ceiling with
sandpaper eyes, fists clenching and unclenching reflexively,
brain running through a zoetrope of images and half thoughts so
quickly that I can barely see them anymore.
Stuck in that weird, frustrating state, Too tired to sleep, too
tired to move, but restless. Itchy bones are heavy, but the
skin is crawling. My body feels so displaced and
aching without hurting, like a puppet that's been dropped
without thoughts or strings and now has to wait in whatever
uncomfortable position it was left in.
My brain is so numb, but it won't shut up.
I force myself to move, concentrate and move one piece
at a time, all joints stiff, all limbs disconnected.
Sit up, put the light on, get your jacket and shoes on and
open the door. I just about remembered to take
my phone as a torch. I step outside and the air is
sharp and cool but not cold October autumn chill, not winter
frost where the early morning air comes at you as it hates
you. close the door and stand on the doorstep for a moment,
filling reluctant lungs with air in and out.
It feels nice, clean and relaxed against stale, sweaty non sleep.
I walk around the village and immediately begin to feel
better. The rhythm of walking is
soothing and gently soothes the worst of the onslaught of
unformed thoughts into a placated soporific numbness.
The village is still, but not unnaturally so.
I can hear unseen nighttime creatures scurrying about in
bushes, sometimes catching glances of them as they dart
about in shadowy corners. Tranquilized, I walk through the
churchyard along the path that weaves through the graves.
It may be strange, but I've never felt unsafe or spooked.
There. Nothing moves that shouldn't
move in daylight or darkness, and I look up and at the end of
the path, just past the beautiful twists of the wrought
iron gates, something vaguely human and very, very big passes
in front of my vision. I'm not good at judging heights,
but it must have been 20 feet tall, dressed in a black cloak,
the hood up around what should have been a face.
It moved silently and gracefully, unhurried but with
purpose. I thought I must be seeing
things. Tiredness, the movement of
shadows, tricks of the light. Besides, soundless things that
size do not exist at 3:30 in the morning in little villages.
Blinked, shook it off, went to bed.
The walk did the trick. I slept until it was light.
I saw it the next night and the next.
I don't sleep anymore. All in different places, all
moving from shadow to shadow, tree to tree.
It either didn't notice me or didn't care, but it was real.
It doesn't seem to do any harm and my poor sleep deprived brain
does nothing but freeze. I don't know if I should be
scared. I don't know what to do.
I can't tell anyone. No one would believe me.
I tried to follow it, but it melts into the darkness almost
as soon as my eyes can focus on it.
By the time I've registered what I see, it isn't there anymore.
Last night it appeared in the park.
It seems to step from nowhere and move soundlessly towards the
small wood where a cavalcade of senior citizens walked their
inevitably tiny dogs just hours before.
Something moved beside it, just before it slid between the trees
and I realized it wasn't alone. Another figure, just as tall,
glided in and out of the wood, one moment, a solid shape
against the night sky, the next nothing but a shudder in the
air. Yet another.
It's hooded head bowed in silent greeting.
Another stoop and brushes its hands.
Does it have hands against the tree line before slinking into
blackness? I stand frozen, Don't know if I
breathe, if I'm living. Remember what I was told to do
when feeling panicky or unreal. One thing you can taste.
Two things you can smell. Three things you can touch.
Four things you can hear. 5 things you can see.
I can taste my tongue. It tastes coppery and thick.
I can smell the crisp air, the evenings rain on the grass.
I can touch the ground. I can handle the sleeves in my
jacket. I can take the pads of my index
finger against my thumb. I can't feel anything.
I can hear leaves rustling in the lazy early morning breeze.
I can listen to a grumpy baby grumbling from somewhere in the
depths of the village. I can listen to Badgers or foxes
rustling somewhere in the darkness.
I can listen to someone's wind chimes tinkling softly.
I can see the bright moon in an almost blinding white tonight.
I can see houses filled with blissfully sleeping people.
I can see the church, uncanny under the half light.
I can see the outline of the woods, trees unfurling with the
energy of the witching hour. I can see more and more strange
shapes drifting into the trees, more and more tall, thin,
cloaked figures melting into the darkness.
I don't remember getting home. Some part of me wonders if it is
a dream, but it doesn't feel like a dream.
A side effect of such a severe bout of insomnia.
But I have never experienced anything like this.
I don't know what to do or who to tell if there's anyone.
I even could tell the creatures, people, figures I don't mean any
harm, but what could they want? It's 4 minutes past 10 in the
evening. I haven't slept in two days,
maybe 3, no 2-3. And I wouldn't be this coherent
and unable to think a thing. I can't decide what to do if I
need to do anything. So I'm reaching out to you.
Tell me I'm not crazy. Please tell me what you think.
Someone out there must have seen them.
If you can help me then please help me.
It's now 6 minutes past 10 in the evening.
In four hours and 54 minutes I will go outside.
I will see them again and I will decide what to do.
It is now 8 minutes past 10. Please hurry.
This is a bad idea. I leaned my head against the
rain covered window and watched the dark trees blur past my
stomach twisted into an uncomfortable knot.
Carla rolled her mascara Ring Dies at me from the passenger
seat of the Civic. You always say that, Hannah.
Literally. Every time and every time.
It's fine. Yeah, right?
I frowned and counted off on my fingers when she'd been wrong.
What about that factory in Nashville?
Or the docks in Charleston? Or the unfinished subway system
under Cincinnati. I still have nightmares about
that homeless guy chasing us. Matt let slide a wry grin from
the even as he carefully maneuvered the low bottomed car
around yet another abandoned police barricade.
He was pretty nuts. It's not going to be like last
time, all right? This place is going to be legit.
I can feel it. Is that confidence or weed
talking? Carla gave him a snide sideways
look, clearly trying to push his buttons.
Both baby. Matt returned a carefree wink,
ever the gentle optimist, and Carla suppressed A smirk.
If we get caught and they test you, you'll go to jail.
She picked at one polished fingernail, little chips of
Ebony paint flaking onto the dusty carpet.
Nah, Matt swerved back onto the gravel road and pushed down on
the accelerator. I'm cool when it comes to
talking to the cops. You.
On the other hand, the word struck true and Carla crossed
her arms in faux annoyance, though I could tell they were
teasing each other. Matt and Carla had been my
friend since the 8th grade, and they'd always been opposites
with two blue collar parents and five siblings.
Matt was laid back, peaceful and charismatic, the kind of guy who
could make anyone smile. More than once his charm had
gotten us out of a tight jam when Matt talked himself into
friendship with menacing St. thugs, coked out homeless people
and angry police officers alike. On the other hand, Carla was
high strung, the daughter of a wealthy lawyer with a tough love
attitude and a knack for trouble.
She'd been suspended twice in school for stealing candy bars
from the vending machines and didn't even like chocolate.
She did it just for the thrill and to make her single mother
furious. Between them, Carla and Matt
argued about everything politics, religion, social
trends, and even flavors of ice cream.
But there was one thing that brought them together, The same
thing that bonded us all as friends and had for close to six
years. We loved investigating the
paranormal. Well, the word paranormal
stretched things a bit. It started with a little blog
when we had to do a group project for a computer science
class in junior high. Armed with a cheap digital
camera, some flashlights, and a complete disregard for curfew,
we dedicated ourselves to exploring every inch of our
subdivision in Louisville. Carla was an unapologetic drama
queen, acting perfectly enough to convince even me.
Sometimes Matt had a way of walking, holding his head and
whispering that made him seem genuinely alarmed, which paired
well with Carla's fake terror. Together they paraded in front
of the camera, claiming to hear whispers in the storm drains,
see faces in the trees at the park, and shadows moving in.
Half built housing developments. We got an A on that project, and
slowly our blog grew from kids playing around to an Internet
sensation. Soon we were exploring truly
creepy areas, including rundown sections of the city that made a
haunted house look tame. I, of course, held the camera
through it all, terrible at acting, even worse at telling a
convincing lie. I'd been the cause for more than
one municipal fine, because I'd admitted our true intentions to
a security guard, but if I was good at anything, it was seeing
things through the lens of filmmaking and finding the best
way to make the scene feel real. Since graduating high school the
previous May, I'd thought about going to college for film
studies, but my parents were both working class and I doubted
working at a burger joint would be enough to foot the bill.
Still, doing this kind of stuff let me explore my creative movie
producer side, and I always imagined I was some documentary
maker off on a grand adventure. At least I tried to, in between
fearing for my life, legal record, and freedom every time
the others got me into trouble. My parents didn't like Matt and
Carla for reasons that weren't all wrong, and I had to assure
them over and over that I would be home in a week in time for my
20th birthday party that Dad had been preparing for all this
month. Man, I could go for one of those
loaded chili dogs of his. I'm pretty sure he bought honey
mustard corn chips, too. Why couldn't we have just stayed
in Kentucky? Slouched in the back seat, I
eyed a few raindrops that slid over the glass of Matt's car.
Seriously though, a camping trip?
People will say we're copying the Blair Witch Project.
Matt reached for his jumbo sized cherry slushy and took a long
sip. I hear you, girl.
I do. But I've got it all done.
This place hasn't been explored yet by anyone in the community.
I checked three times. There is not one grain of
footage about the new Wilderness Wildlife Reserve will be the
first ones, meaning we're free to create whatever kind of
content we want. Ghosts, cryptids, anything.
It's a goldmine. Carla sat up and pointed out her
window, a happy smile painted on her lips in the thick black
lipstick she adored. Oh sweet the moon is coming out,
which means the rain should stop soon.
Seriously, this will be awesome. We'll get 10s of thousands of
views within the first hour. Besides, it'll be fun to get out
of the urban stuff for once. You know, try some nature
related scares. Yay, Lyme disease and tetanus.
I hug the camera bag closer to my lap.
And if we get caught? You saw those military guys at
that first crossing we tried. Every Rd. around this place was
blocked and helicopters were at the county line.
They already have our license plate number from this morning.
Carla's tan face darkened at that.
It's a public Rd. They can't charge us with
anything serious. They're not even National Guard.
Besides, if some weekend warrior wants to take me to jail, he can
talk to my mom. She'll sue them into the ground.
We'll be fine, as usual. Matt interjected his low key
ambience and flexed his neck back and forth to crack it.
Those guys were just doing their job.
Besides, they look tired, so they were probably in some
barracks. If we run into anyone, it'll be
a different crew, so we'll play the dumb kids angle.
You always defend them. Carla narrowed her eyes at him
with more than a bit of venom in her voice.
Literally anyone with a uniform. They're not all heroes, you
know. I'm a lover, not a fighter.
Unfazed by Carla's angst, Matt drummed the fingers of his free
hand on the seat armrest. That's why I talked to the
police, not you. Besides, my cousin's a Marine.
They're not all Jack boots, my little revolutionary.
I couldn't help but grin. And despite herself, Carla bit
her lip at his name for her red tinging, her sandy complexion.
Matt and Carla had been unusually aggressive with each
other in the past three months, and when I'd almost walked in on
them steaming up our hotel room in Lexington, my suspicions had
been confirmed. Left or right, rich or poor,
they had a thing for each other that no amount of arguing could
break, and I thought it was cute, even if sometimes
annoying. Ah, the modern melting pot.
Emphasis on the bank. Should be another 5 minutes on
this road before our turn. Matt glanced at his cell phone
in the center console. At least I think so.
Man, service sucks out here. They should put up better Rd.
signs. Carla poked at her phone screen
and irritation. And update Google Maps.
I mean, seriously, Every time I type in Barron County, all that
comes up is freaking Wisconsin. A flash of jade green caught my
eye from the side of the road, and I jab my finger at the
window there. What's that one say?
Matt slowed the car to a stop beside the rusty, dented Rd.
sign. It looked like no one had been
out to replace the battered signpost in years with tall
grass growing up around it, and the letters faded so that I
could barely read them in the dark.
A long gravel Rd. branched off from the one we were on and
plunged into the gloom, straight as an arrow.
I found that odd, as most of the secondary roadways we'd
encountered after driving into southeastern Ohio had been
anything but straight. It's so dark out.
If it hadn't been for that crummy sign, I never would have
known the road was there. Carla rubbed at a foggy patch on
her window and squinted Tower Pin Rd.
Is that part of our route? Nope.
With a sigh of disappointment, Matt eased off the brake pedal.
We're looking for Bethesda Ridge Rd.
Good catch though, Hannah. Let's keep going.
I watched the night swallow up the little sign.
It's white surfaces backlighted by the red of Matt's tail
lights. For a split second, I almost
thought I saw a figure step out of the darkness to stand beside
the sign, tilting its head like a curious bird to watch us
leave. Come on, snap out of it.
There will be plenty of time for creepy imagination stuff later.
We drove for another few miles before finally turning onto the
road Matt had found on an old map stashed in the corner of a
Public Library. I hadn't thought anything of it
the first time he showed me, but Matt seemed to think it worth
checking out, since the bizarre map of Ohio showed 89 counties
instead of the 88 that everyone knew there were.
The last county, Barron County, seemed to have been added in the
early 1900s, according to the numbers on the old wrinkled
paper, though there was no record of it anywhere to be
found. Similarly, there was very little
online about the new wilderness wildlife reserve.
Still, Carla came across a few different posts about it on some
story sharing sites, which piqued her interest.
The story seemed like total crap to me, but Matt and Carla ate
them up, and so we'd planned a trip to the forgotten waste of
the Appalachian foothills to run around in the hot humid forests.
Pretending to be scared by things that weren't there made
it. Matt put the car in the park and
cracked his knuckles like he did right before we got ready to do
something borderline illegal. Who's ready to get some awesome
footage? Carla grinned and glanced back
my way. I'm ready if Spielberg is in her
typical rough around the edges form of friendship.
Carla had awarded me the nickname Spielberg.
As an indirect way of saying, even if your acting sucks,
you're great at aiming a camera. While it sometimes felt more
like a gift given in pity, no one else had ever given me any
other nicknames, so I couldn't exactly be upset about it.
We're all good back here. I put on my bravest grin, which
ended up being half the size I wanted it to be, but it did the
trick. Setting up camp didn't take very
long, and since the rain had stopped, we could find a mostly
dry patch of ground just inside a stand of Pines not far from
the car. Matt found some broken glass in
one spot that he claimed might have been an old camper window,
but we couldn't be sure. After the tents went up, our
phones were turned off and dumped into a box in Matt's car
for legal reasons, according to Carla, and most of our surplus
gear was locked in the trunk. With that done, we convened by
the roadside. Remember, Matt handed a small
LED headlamp to each of us. Just because there's hardly
anyone out here doesn't mean we can get lazy.
Red lights and low voices are the game's name.
And pray some farmer with a 12 gauge doesn't accidentally take
our heads off while coyote hunting.
Keeping my droll thoughts to myself, I spritzed on some bug
spray and followed Matt and Carla down the quiet lane.
We walked down the long dark stretch of gravel for 15 minutes
until Matt decided we were far enough from our campsite not to
draw unnecessary attention from anyone who might see us.
Like saboteurs in an old war movie.
We scampered into the rolling grass on the other side of the
dam and walked right past a yellow private property not
trespassing sign along the way. Inky shadows cloaked everything
like a heavy layer of soot, reminding me that we weren't in
Louisville anymore with its bright St. lights, hard paved
streets, and security cameras. Wet knee high grass clawed at my
pant legs and thorny scrub brush swatted at my sides.
The scent of cool, fresh rain hung in the air far better than
the stench of the city, but I couldn't enjoy it for the whiny
cloud of gnats that howled in my ears.
All I had on were a pair of slim fit green cargo pants and a Gray
tshirt. My hair pulled back in a simple
ponytail and it seemed my bug spray was less than effective.
I should have bought the more potent stuff.
That's what I get for cheaping out on hey.
Matt's voice startled me from my musings and I looked up to see a
tall chain link fence with barbed wire across the top, a
huge gaping hole torn into the wire right next to where he
stood. Whatever came through had pushed
the fence wire apart like it was made of rubber bands, and Matt
could have driven his car into the gap without touching the
sides. Check it out, we won't even have
to climb. A mischievous twinkle came into
Matt's eye as the Crimson beam of his headlamp swept over the
destroyed wire. Hannah, get the camera ready.
This will make a great opening shot.
The sight of the ruined fence sent a shiver down my spine.
What could have made a hole that big?
By all other accounts, the rest of the fence line looked well
kept, not super rusty or overgrown for something to punch
clean through woven wire fencing, especially with a
string of barbed wire at the top, I meant an animal with vast
strength. Like what?
A long lost dinosaur? Seriously Hannah, this is Ohio.
Stop freaking out over every little thing.
There's a reason Matt and Carla don't put you in front of the
camera. To ignore the harsh criticisms
of my thoughts, I pulled out the hefty camera we'd purchased as a
group. Push the power button and remove
the lens caps. You want infrared or?
My eye caught a speck of color in the grass to my left, and I
paused. Tucked between the tall blades
of bluegrass, a single dirty white and Gray sneaker lay
discarded. Its laces, Frayed scratches and
gouges scored the rubber, and a few dark stains almost looked
black, as if the shoe had been spattered in tar.
I hadn't seen any footprints. Though I wasn't an expert
tracker. The thought that someone might
already be out here and close by poured ice over my blood.
Guys, come look at this. The other two clustered around
me and Carla's eyes lit up. Nice 1A missing shoe.
A mysterious ruined fence. This is perfect.
I stand corrected. We'll clear 100,000 views in 24
hours or I'll wear pink lipstick for a week.
Matt nudged the sneaker with the toe of his shoe.
Don't bets with girls involved in wearing less, not more.
Carla made a please timid smile. Grateful I had the camera to
hide behind. I did my best not to sigh.
And jealousy. It must be nice.
Despite her gothic fashion tendencies, Carla was gorgeous,
with jet black hair, sensuous Hispanic facial features, and
generous curves where it counted.
She could fill out her clothes in ways that made the boys back
in high school almost break their necks when she walked by,
something that enraged the preppy girls who had resented
her Edgar Allan Poe clothing tastes by comparison.
I wore simple cargo pants and tshirts, my limbs skinny and the
rest of me barely any better. Even though my grandmother
insisted that my stuffing was just slow and coming, I had a
suspicion that if one wasn't curvy by 19, that wasn't likely
to change. I never admitted it around Carla
or Matt, but these trips were getting increasingly lonely as I
woke up night after night to them, curled up in their motel
bed while I lay alone in mine. With graduation almost two years
ago, I had yet to go on a single date or even hold a boy's hand,
much less do whatever they did when they thought I was asleep.
Being plain was hard, but being alone, that sucked.
I'm in favor of Julian. I cut in readying to press the
record on the camera. You know, for the list of baby
names you want the first shot of the fence or the shoe?
The gate oblivious to my bitter sarcasm, Carla backed up the way
we'd come and gestured for us to follow.
We'll walk up and rediscover the shoe.
There is no night vision for now.
It'll be harder for the viewers to spot our tracks in the grass
from before. Then we can focus on finding its
owner, should they still be among this world.
Her deep dramatic tone made Matt laugh, and we slogged back a few
yards to begin our shoot. I held the camera at the ready
and gave them a countdown on three fingers.
All right guys, we're back. Matt flashed a thumbs up at the
camera as he and Carla entered their routine.
This time we've traveled deep into the Appalachian wilderness
to a remote wildlife reserve that some people think is part
of a secret government cover up. Carla leaned on his shoulder
with her hand. The 2A comedic duo, if there was
one. We have no idea what we're
walking into, folks, so keep your fingers crossed.
Remember, you're seeing this raw and unfiltered, like we are as
raw as a burned steak behind the camera.
I rolled my eyes at the last line, trailed them back through
the grass, and tried not to trip in the murky shadows.
Invariably, I wouldn't say I like that our videos bent the
truth so much. Sure, they looked fantastic when
we were done, and as Matt pointed out, we were there to
entertain people. But still, I wouldn't say I
liked selling the idea that none of it was orchestrated.
Dishonesty never sat well with me, but I had to remind myself
that I was a filmmaker and a storyteller, which was part of
the storytelling process. Were discovered The Gate, and
Matt and Carla played the part of two stunned kids oohing and
awing over the Gap and pretending to be worried about
what could have made such a large hole.
Carla found the sneaker and dared to pick it up.
Always the Method actress. Who do you think this belongs
to? She whispered to Matt and held
the filthy shoe up to the camera.
Matt went into his tense machismo stance, head cocked to
one side, eyes probing the darkness like he was seriously
concerned. I don't know, maybe someone got
stranded out here. Let's see if we can.
As if on cue, the low rumble of tires on gravel echoed from the
road behind us, and we all dove for the grass, headlamps
clicking off. Brakes screeched their metallic
staccato, and the unseen vehicle rolled to a stop 50 yards away
on the road. I waited for them to move on, to
throw some garbage out, but the truck stayed put.
Why weren't they leaving? Bright white light stabbed at
the misty darkness overhead, and my lungs constricted a spotlight
chunk chunk. The heavy metal bolt on a weapon
rattled back and forth, validating a dozen panicked
theories in my mind. Now it made sense.
The missing shoes, the lonely Rd. the soldiers.
My heart began to pound, the wet grass stuck to my face, and
something skidded across my palm.
With eight spindly legs, each shaky breath tasted of the rain
and earth, and my ears rang with the nervous thumping of
adrenaline. We'd seen too much come too far,
broken, one rule too many, and now they would hunt us down.
Carla's words rolled through my head in an eerie, mocking mantra
at the thought of my blood spattered over the grass by a
burst of gunfire. With no one to witness it, save
for the camera, raw and unfiltered, I squeezed both eyes
shut and forced myself to breathe slowly, counting every
second. How long until I heard
footsteps, voices and shouts. How long until we were dragged
out of the ditch by our collars, surrounded by rough hands, Maybe
even Hannah. Hannah, get the camera up, for
Pete's sake, get the camera up. Matt's whisper blasted urgently
at me from the shadows, and I bit back a terrified reply.
The camera If I recorded everything, whoever was out
there would be less likely to hurt us.
Propping the camera up on a clump of sod, I dared to peek
through the tiny viewing screen and click the button to toggle
its night vision mode. Whoa.
A mud spattered pickup truck sat idling on the gravel.
Tarmac painted a mix of tan and olive drab green with a strange
rebar cage bolted over the windows and a box of square
metal plates welded around the bed.
I could make out a white painted emblem on the door that read New
Wilderness Wildlife Reserve. The metal covered in various
dents and scrapes. Angle iron racks on the sides
held long, spearlike poles, some with sharpened points, others
with green canisters with little Cotter pins in the tips, and
others with round metal plates on the end that made them look
like oversized toilet plungers. Long spikes had been welded in
various places on the vehicles, armored hide, many dented, rusty
or bent from some impact. In the back, the upper torso of
a man stood out at the top of the plate armor, holding on to
something long and shiny bolted to the roll bar with the ambient
light from the headlights reflecting off the linked brass
cartridges. It didn't take an expert to know
what it was. What are they hunting?
Godzilla? Carla peeked from behind a small
Bush, her words laced with a tinge of surprise.
We'd run into security plenty of times in the various places we
traveled, but never anyone with a belt fed .50 caliber machine
gun in the back of their up armored post apocalyptic pickup
truck. It almost looked like something
from an article on war-torn Syria, not sleepy rural Ohio.
In a flash the bright white spotlight from earlier swept
across the fence line right over our heads, panning wherever the
gun was pointed. Sweat beaded on my forehead and
beside me Carla swore under her breath, Matt lying as still as
stone Hilltop. This is Rhino 1A.
Man's voice floated over the air to me, somewhat faint from the
distance but still loud enough that I could hear the unease in
his voice. We've got a breach in the
perimeter fence along past your D It looks big, Sean.
How copy? Please don't come this way.
My pulse roared in my temple and I pressed myself to the cold,
wet grass like it was the cute guy from 4th E period biology
who I'd never worked up the nerve to talk to.
I wanted to go home. This had gone from harmless fun
to serious trouble in the time it took to cook a Pop Tart, and
I was already half soaked from lying on the wet ground.
Rhino One, This is Hilltop. If you don't see any resident
animals in the immediate vicinity, report back here and
we'll send you out with a repair crew.
How copy? The radio crackled back with a
deeper voice. No doubt their leadership and
the truck engine revved once more.
Roger that, Hilltop Rhino 1 copies all.
We'll be there in about 10 minutes.
Off down the road it went, the headlights gradually moving out
of sight, and I caught the sound of Matt's relieved sigh.
Tell me you got all that on camera.
I stayed hunkered down behind the weeds, too on edge to move.
Yeah, I got it. Carla giggled in the shadows,
and a moment later her red headlamp flickered on to reveal
a delighted smile. Spielberg strikes again.
I can already hear the new subscribers begging for more.
We're still getting a plaque for this.
Maybe a tombstone? I allowed myself to rise to my
elbows, Cautious as a Gopher in hawk territory.
I think we should go. Seriously, they seem wound up.
What if they shoot at us with that thing?
Matt combed a few blades of grass out of his shaggy chestnut
hair and wrinkled his nose. I doubt it.
What court is going to uphold a couple of dudes machine gunning
3 kids in the night for the terrible crime of drumroll
please. Trespassing.
Unarmed, with a camera and an old shoe.
Besides, Carla sat back on her heels and fixed her lopsided
Black Watch cap. It's probably not even
registered. They fire a shot, it goes to the
ATF, and they'll be in federal prison for 20 years minimum.
We've got nothing to worry about.
They beamed at me as if we discussed the odds of getting
free ice cream after school, and I gritted my teeth.
This happened every time I brought up a problem or
suggested an idea wasn't safe or legal.
They always talked me into more, and whenever it did go wrong,
they somehow managed to bait me into another misadventure.
The next time they found a lonely place to film, I got to
my feet along with them and picked up the burrs already
clogged in the cuffs of my pants.
Okay. But they said they'd be back
with a repair crew soon. They're going to seal this
fence, and if we go through Seriously Hannah, it'll take 5
minutes. Carla narrowed her Gray eyes at
me like she always did when she didn't want to be argued with.
Just pick up the camera and let's go.
You're lucky this thing is expensive.
Hefting the camera, I threw her a glare that she didn't catch in
the dark and focused in on them. Carla in her typical all black
outfit with equally macabre makeup, and Matt with his
Louisville Bats tshirt and faded blue jeans.
They straightened up, preparing for me to give them another
countdown, and I raised my three fingers snap.
A slight blur tumbled from the trees just beyond the fence, the
object hitting a brush on the way down.
Matt and Carla whirled around and I stared through the grainy
night vision in the shadows. Something's over there.
I gripped the camera with clammy fingers.
I saw something fall out of the trees.
At any other time they would have thrown me a dirty look for
talking with the camera rolling still.
Instead they took off before I could stop them, Matt doing his
usual hyper alert walk, and Carla with her oh so petite
parody of her real personality. Like that, they dove through the
hole in the fence, leaving me no choice but to groan inwardly and
stumble after them. My canvas high top slid over a
greasy clump of mud, and I almost went down, muttering with
frustration under my breath. We had to go camping.
There's a Haunted Mansion in Blenner, Hassett, or a deep
reservoir near Moorhead, But no, we drove to the middle of
freaking nowhere Ohio to walk around in the woods.
And Hannah, come on, hurry up. Matt waved at me with more than
his typical performance excitement, and I pushed myself
into a light jog for the last few yards.
Carla's eyes glittered like she'd been given a chance to
pick the school uniform colors and had chosen all black look.
Another shoe rested in her hand, muddy and in tatters, with the
same kind of weird Ebony stains, only in different places.
This one, however, wasn't a sneaker, but a brown leather
dress shoe that some office worker might wear to a meeting
that didn't make sense. Why were there just random shoes
out here? People threw garbage out in the
city all the time, but to come way out here and dump shoes?
I hid my disturbed frown behind the camera, still filming every
second. It's not the same, which means
Matt turned to Carla, who dropped the shoe and put up both
hands for a double high five. We've got two people, They
crowed in triumph, as if two shoeless people wandering the
woods of godforsaken Ohio were a good thing.
Another mosquito nipped at my ear and I wished I could smack
them both. More than anything, I wouldn't
say I like this. The entire thing tightened in my
chest like a winch and I was already soaked to the point I
started to feel cold. No people were in these woods.
Some litter bug must have thrown his trash over the fence and
speed off. Maybe a truck had crashed
through the wall, which explained the hole in the shoes.
Either way, I wanted to return to our tents, change into my
warm, dry clothes, and drive back to civilization for a
shower. That's right, fam, we've got two
mysterious people in these woods.
Carla crooned for the camera and held up the discarded loafer,
which means we just have to keep following the trail until thunk.
I nearly jumped out of my skin, my heart racing 1,000,000 miles
a minute. Matt lost his smile and Carla
screamed. Not the faux girly squeal she
did for the camera, but a realistic, unnerved Yelp of
surprise Less than 20 yards away.
Embedded among the thorns, dead leaves and branches lay a high
heeled sandal. Its straps ripped the cork on
the heel, coated in hateful black stains.
With the camera viewing screen between my face and the real
world, I felt like I was looking at the scene from the comfort of
my living room, distant and detached.
But my brain went into full alarm mode.
Everything about this situation gave me all the bad vibes in the
world. We now had a third shoe,
different from the others, and just like the last one, it had
fallen. We have fallen from somewhere up
high, somewhere in the trees, right over our heads.
Thump, thump. My heart drummed against my ribs
and I craned my neck back, lifting the camera to the tree
branches overhead. Thump, thump, terror course
through me like a tide. A faint static buzzed in my ears
and crackled against the inside of my skull.
Thump, thump. My eyes stretched wide at seeing
more shoes, dozens and dozens suspended from the trees.
Men's shoes, women's shoes, and even little children's shoes all
dripped rainwater from their perches like forgotten Christmas
decorations left to rot. They all bore black stains, and
I wondered what the spatters, splashes and dribbles resembled.
Guys. I stepped backward and my entire
body shook from head to toe. We have to go right?
Crash. A figure hurtled through the
underbrush nearby and fell to the mud in a Scrabble of
flailing limbs. Ragged clothes, a pale grayish
foot missing a shoe, and matted, filthy hair the color of mold.
Encrusted tree bark glistened in the grainy light of my camera's
night vision. His head snapped up with a
sickening crunch of stiff neck vertebrae and the man locked
eyes with me through the camera. White filmy eyes and a long
Cheshire smile beamed from the man's dirt streaked face,
exposing stubby squared off teeth that almost seemed carved
as if from wood. Both his hands were grimy and
scarred, the fingernails chipped with abuse, and he had scores of
black scratches all over him, the crusty scabs similar in
color to the stains on the shoes.
Oh my God. For a moment we both blinked at
each other, and try as I might, I couldn't command my muscles to
move. Matt's eyes were wide as
saucers, and he made no move to intervene.
None of us had weapons, since we didn't expect to find anything.
Nothing real, nothing like this. To my left, Carla let out a
whimper and bolted like a gun had been fired to start a race.
The forest exploded with high, piercing screams of animalistic
Glee jumping from behind trees, scuttling under the bushes and
crawling out from the high grass.
A dozen creatures closed in from all sides, Their moon white eyes
flashed in the dark, grayish hands outstretched to snatch at
my clothes in desperate hunger. It was as if they had been
waiting for me, watching us since we'd crossed the road, and
now I'd walked right into their trap.
I turned on my heel to run and caught the sight of Matt and
Carla well ahead, sprinting as fast as they could.
Too late did I notice the wall of shrieking assailants seal
around me. The bizarre figures crouched on
all fours, clacking their wooden teeth in anticipation.
Screaming, I swung my camera like a club at the nearest one,
but she dodged the blow, her grin wicked encrusted with gore.
A hand grabbed my ponytail and threw me to the mud, more cold
fingers pinning my arms, shoulders and legs.
Mouths opened wide, cruel knobby teeth descended toward me and I
writhed in unthinking panic. Whoosh.
Out of nowhere all the shoes from the trees rained down and
thudded into a waist high heap in the mud just outside the ring
of attackers, all the moon eyed people froze, their smiles
vanishing and they looked at the shoes like deer in the
headlights. One set of hands released its
iron grip on my arm, and a wooden toothed girl flew
backward, dragged by some unseen force to the pile of shoes.
She wailed in a pitiful screech of fear and pain before the
banks sucked her in with the horrible sound of bones being
ground to dust startled into action.
The rest of the freaks abandoned their hold on me and tripped
over each other to run away on all fours in a tremendous
spherical cloud. The shoes lifted from the
ground, levitating as if held in the air by some invisible hand.
Jolts of something black and thin shot out from between each
shoe, moving too fast for me to see correctly.
And each time the darkness reeled another crying Moon eyed
person to their doom, all that remained after the screaming
crunching of bones and a spray of black blood were the shoes of
the dead freak, freshly stained and added to the cloud like
satellites of a planet. Run, you stupid moron.
Reality hit me and I clawed at the mud and scrambled backward
to get away, the rest of the moon eyed ones already well off
into the distance. The levitating sphere now had
only one thing left in the small clearing to consume, and a
tingling rose on my skin like thousands of tiny insect
feelers. Something brushed past my right
leg, fast and wriggling with a wild thrash.
I faced it, ready to bite, claw and scratch to the bitter end.
The sphere hovered right over me, maybe 6 feet away at most.
The shoes, deathly still static, rang in my ears.
Whispers echoed in my mind, and all four limbs became heavy as
lead. I could see it just behind the
curtain of lost footwear, horrifying enough to lock me in
place, and I surrounded by molten, greasy black sinews that
curled around each other in perpetual motion.
The orb watched me with an emotionless gaze.
It was enormous, the size of a car tire, bloodshot and with
Crimson irises that seethed like flames in my head.
A disembodied voice chanted something repeatedly, A
wordless, unintelligible mumble that rang deep into my
subconscious like a cathedral bell.
Black tendrils reached from between the shoes for me, and
pain flared in my limbs every time I tried to flee, like
knives were burrowed into the folds of my brain, controlling
my every move. It was all I could do to stay
conscious, the horror and adrenaline keeping the shadows
in my mind at Bay. Can't fall asleep.
I can't let it take me. I can't.
My fingers twitched against my collarbone at the last second
and touched something smooth. Gritting my teeth in pain, I
forced my arm to jerk the chain from my neck.
In all our trips across the country, I've been chased by
countless stray dogs, and so my parents had gifted me an
electric dog whistle for just such occasions.
The whistle had saved me many times, and I got to where I
touched it on reflex whenever we got into trouble.
It was less of a reasonable thought and more of a childish
impulse that I pulled the whistle from my shirt front and
clicked the tone button. Furious howls tore through my
skull, followed by searing white hot pain As the whistle dangled
from my fingers. I clapped both palms to my ears,
screaming in agony. It seemed my brain was being
ripped apart, shredded by some bladed worm throwing a tantrum
inside my skull and all my muscles spasmed in uncontrolled
torment. Above me the world began to
spin, the dark mass convulsed and the sky rained with slimy,
gore covered shoes. ZAP.
Harsh and cold. A jolt of electricity sliced
through my mind, clearing away all thoughts, and I tumbled down
into unending darkness. I lay in a field of white
wildflowers, the warm sun overhead making me tired.
Someone had their arms around me, and I could smell a musky
Cologne that reminded me of chocolate.
His face was a blur, but the stranger held me close, his
calloused hands pressing down over my sternum in a way that
made heat pool in my core. Soft velvety lips met mine, and
a light sensation filled my chest like I would burst.
Come on, he whispered, his warm breath tickling my ear.
Wake up. Come on, civvy, wake up.
A heavyweight leaned on my chest and my mouth shot open to drag a
long, damp gulp of air down into my lungs.
I got a live one, a male voice echoed over me, and gentle hands
cradled my head. Hey, can you hear me?
Please open your eyes for me. Open your eyes, civvy.
Come on. My eyelids fluttered and I
blinked at a pair of sky blue irises, bushy brown eyebrows,
and a warm, relieved smile. Bright fingers of light cut
through the murky woods around me, flashlights mounted on the
ends of rifles held by dozens of people dressed in black polo
shirts. A few trucks sat near the fence
and I could hear the crackle of radio chatter.
Jumbled piles of old, smelly shoes lay around me, partially
covering my stomach and legs. A metallic taste stung the
inside of my mouth and my ears rang irritably.
It's Okay, I've got you. The guy looked to be in his
early 20s with broad shoulders in the start of a stubble beard.
He had close cut hair the color of Maple syrup and wore a black
polo shirt, over which a green bandolier full of rifle
magazines was strapped. The barrel of a rifle poked from
behind one shoulder and I saw the words New Wilderness
Wildlife Reserve stenciled on the breast pocket of his shirt.
Is this a dream? I tried to take another breath,
but my head spun and stars danced before my eyes.
More coppery taste flowed over my upper lip and pain pulsed in
my temples. Jamie, get over here, I'm losing
her. A girl appeared behind the boy,
her bleach blonde hair and a tight bun, a Kalashnikov slung
over her shoulder. She threw herself beside me and
reached to cut my face with both hands.
Can you hear me? She stared into my eyes, turning
my head with her hands, inspecting me like a ripe
watermelon. Blackness nibbled at the edges
of my vision, and it took all my effort to nod.
Blink twice if 2 + 2 = 4. Despite my dizziness, I pressed
my eyelids down twice in a row. She's not scrambled, but she's
going into shock. The girl pressed 2 fingers to my
neck, her skin cool and dry compared to my sweaty flesh.
Geez, Chris, did you break her sternum?
No. Above me.
The boy looked down at my face in despair, his expression
blurting as my eyes watered. I swear I didn't push that hard
just enough to get her breathing.
A loud Electro synth foghorn ripped through the trees from
somewhere nearby, and a strange metallic screech thudding
rumbled closer. Technos, one of the other
fighters, pointed his rifle into the dark tree line and the night
came alive with the crack crack of gunfire.
Everything tilted and the shoes fell away as the boy lifted me
from the ground like a sack of potatoes.
We got to go, Jamie. Help me get her in the truck.
Trees crunched, brush snapped and piercing white light flooded
the clearing. The blonde girl put her hand
over my eyes and ran alongside the boy who carried me.
You stay awake, you hear? Between the girls fingers I
barely glimpsed the outline of something vast and angular
clambering through the Pines. It's 8 Gray legs skittering
easily over the rough terrain. Small dark figures of the
fighters surrounded it and like something from a cave painting,
they fired up at the colossal shadow with everything they had.
Get the magnet Spears. Bring it down.
A deeper male voice bellowed, and long sticks flew through the
air at the encircled thing, followed by the resounding clang
of metal hitting metal. A truck door creaked open by my
head, and several hands pulled me inside a small, hot metal
box. Tense faces peered down, and the
boy who carried me leaned close. His worried blue eyes dull into
mine. Don't you die on me.
But shadows clawed away. The light pain throbbed in my
head, and just before I blacked out, another long, strange
foghorn blast echoed like the roar of a prehistoric dinosaur.
Darkness, soft, smooth warmth covered my arms.
The electric whining of machines hummed in the background, along
with the distant chirp of crickets and the croaks of
frogs. Crisp, acidic chlorine tickled
my nose and a cool breeze whispered past my cheek.
My eyelids split open and I inhaled how breathing hurt.
My ribs ached especially around the front, and it took all my
effort to prop myself up on both elbows.
What The white cotton sheets lay over me, a small twin sized
metal bedstead holding me off the tile floor.
A thin blue medical gown hugged my body and my hair flowed loose
around my shoulders in soft brown rivulets.
The bed I sat on was surrounded by a little nook of hanging
white sheets, and through the thin curtains I could make out a
larger room. Beyond it smelled of industrial
cleaner, The walls lined with white painted tables and
cupboards. A few metal trays stood next to
some squat Gray plastic machines that idled in the corner like
waiting cars. Through the closed window just
behind my bed, I could hear the muted songs of insects and frogs
on the other side of the glass. The lights overhead were dimed,
dark enough that I almost felt bad about saying anything, like
I risked waking someone up. Hello.
My voice rasped, scratchy and weak as if I'd swallowed A
bucket of nails squeak. A swivel chair moved out of my
sight, and the quick talk, talk, talk of shoe heels on the cold
floor echoed closer. Shadows closed on my white
cotton sanctuary and I shrunk back into the covers, my heart
racing. Slender fingers drew aside the
curtain and I jumped, startled despite myself.
Well, good morning, kiddo. A woman appeared dressed in a
white doctor's coat, a light blue blouse underneath, and tan
slacks. Likely in her mid 40s.
She was tall and slender, with long golden brown hair, pulled
back into a functional ponytail. Her face bore many lines of
fatigue, but she gave me a friendly, almost maternal smile.
Or rather good evening. You gave us a scare back there.
How are you feeling? Confused.
Swallowing. I coughed dry as a cotton ball
and winced at how it stung. I my ribs kind of hurt.
How bad? On a scale of 1 to 10.
I breathe deep on purpose, pushing my limits to see just
how much it throbbed. I guess like 4.
Maybe three if I don't try too hard.
The woman ducked behind the curtain to pull at an unseen
cabinet and returned to sit beside me with a paper cup full
of water. It'll probably be that way for a
while. Chris said he had to do
compressions to get you conscious.
Lucky for you, our Xrays didn't find any fractures, and you
don't show any signs of brain scrambling.
You'll have some nasty bruises, but nothing worse than that.
I flicked my eyes down at the hospital gown covering me and
fought the fire of humiliation in my cheeks.
My clothes. Sorry about them.
The woman leaned forward to poke a cautious finger through my
hair around the scalp and seemed satisfied to find nothing there.
But they were growing sprouts from the organic material we
found you in, and we figured, better safe than sorry.
Same with your personal effects. But you're clean, so you don't
have to worry about infections or internal growth.
Both relieved and puzzled by her words, I downed the water she'd
given me in a few greedy gulps. So what hospital is this?
A rueful chuckle burst from the woman's lips and she shook her
head. I'm afraid it isn't at all.
This is the Fur and Fang Veterinary Clinic.
Or at least it used to be. I'm Doctor Alicia O'Brien, the
Chief Medical Officer for New Wilderness.
I stared, my heart skipping a beat at the memory of that name.
New wilderness. I was still here, still stuck in
this nightmarish place with the monsters that had.
Wait, why am I the only one? My friends.
Cautiously, I looked around for any sign of Matt or Carla.
I. There were two others with me.
A boy and a girl about my age. Did you see them?
Her kind eyes lost some glow, and Doctor O'Brien sighed
wearily. Did you happen to come here in a
Gray Toyota? Oh, no.
Please, God, no. Yes.
I squeaked, my stomach lurching in a sickening knot.
She stared at the floor momentarily, a look of remorse
on her tired face. Our patrol spotted a Gray car
speeding away just before they got to the scene.
A boy and a girl match those descriptions with all the
anomalies around. We couldn't chase after them, so
I honestly have no idea where they went.
It felt like the floor fell from under me, and I sat there,
stunned. Matt and Carla had left me.
They had left me to die, to be ripped apart, eaten and devoured
like a package of Hamburger Helper, and they hadn't even
looked back. No, it can't be true.
This lady has to be lying. She has to.
Can I use your phone? I gathered my hospital gown
around me, trying to hold my composure.
Dr. O'Brien handed me a square black smartphone from her
trouser pocket. You might have to walk around
the room to find some decent signal, if any.
Ever since the mutants started showing up, cell service has
been terrible. None of our landlines work
either. My feet hit the cold floor tiles
and I sucked in a breath at the tingling sensation it brought.
Standing, I swayed but paced around the room until a solitary
bar popped up in the upper right hand corner and I dialed Carla's
number. Nothing.
The call dropped before I could even hear a dial tone.
Come on, come on. I grumbled and tried again.
Again, the call never even rang. Just 5 minutes for God's sake.
I need 5. The phone began to ring and I
listened, mentally begging Carla to answer.
Click. Hello Carla.
I almost broke down in tears at the sound of her voice.
Carla, I it's me. It's Hannah.
Where are you? A long pause followed.
Oh my. Go.
Matt, it's Hannah. It's freaking Hannah.
She's alive, Matt's voice echoed through the speaker shortly
after hers. Hey, Hannah, is it you?
I couldn't stop the grin from crawling, and tears streamed
down my cheeks. Yeah, it's me.
The Park Rangers found me, so I'm safe.
Are you guys all right? I thought those things got you.
Yeah, we're good. Matt chuckled.
That was super gnarly, huh? Did you get it on camera?
Wow. What's your first question?
For some reason that's stuck in my brain more than usual, Matt
and Carla had one track minds about our blog.
But this? They hadn't even asked if I was
OK. Matt, where are you guys?
I demanded with more force in my voice this time, and my smile
began to melt. Those creeps attacked, and you
both just took off. More silence through the hushed
static. I thought I heard them
whispering to each other on the other side, as if arguing over
what to say. We, Carla came back on at last
with a heavy, reluctant sigh. We're in Cincinnati.
What? I almost dropped the phone, my
mouth hanging open. What?
I, Carla, you guys left me behind.
I'm still here at New Wilderness.
You drove 4 hours to Cincinnati without even returning to look
for me. We thought you were dead, she
whispered, and it seemed she started to choke up, her voice
cracking with partial sobs. Hannah, we didn't mean to,
honest, but we had to get out of there.
And why didn't you call somebody?
My tears returned, but not out of joy, the anger and hurt
boiling over after months of bottling it.
Those things tried to eat me. How could you just leave and not
at least tell the police? We thought about it.
Matt tried to sound apologetic, though I could recognize the
fake charm he used on the street to talk down angry police
officers. But we ran into many soldiers
close to the county line, and they were super pissed to find
us there. Seriously, Spielberg?
We didn't want to get sued for trespass.
Are you serious to hear him try to use my nickname now, after
everything humorously sent me over the edge.
You scummy lowlife coward. You left me to die all for a
freaking video and you don't even have the decency, common
sense, and balls to go and tell someone where I am.
What the actual hell is wrong with you?
Hannah, please. We didn't.
Carla tried to interject, but I was a volcano and the eruption
wouldn't stop. Shut up, Carla.
I snarled through gritted teeth, remembering all the fines, the
creepy homeless people chasing us, the angry police officers
calling my parents. All for clicks.
All for a stupid blog I never appeared in because I couldn't
lie as well as they could forever shut your stupid mouth.
I am so sick and tired of you two doing this to me.
I could have died. And you weren't going to tell
anyone, were you? You weren't going to call my
parents, the cops, or any freaking one because you didn't
want to get charged for being the dumbest pair of morons in
the universe. I told you it was a bad idea.
I told you not to. But do you ever listen?
No. We'll call someone, OK?
Matt sounded irritated now, as if he had a right to be.
Look, we'll call Carla's mom and maybe she can work out a deal.
Don't bother, I hissed as my rage grew to a crescendo, my
hand gripping the phone so hard I heard plastic begin to crack
under the strain. Just don't, All right?
I'll take care of myself. We're done.
I'm done. Screw you both, screw your
stupid blog. And I swear, if I ever see
either of you again, I'll break your worthless nose.
I jabbed my thumb into the red end call button and tossed the
phone onto a nearby table. My vision tinged Crimson and I
hurled my bald fist at the drywall repeatedly with a high
pitched scream of bitterness crunch.
At the final blow, the sheetrock crumpled under my knuckles, pain
flared in my hand and chest, and I slumped to the floor in hot
tears. Sobbing, I rested my forehead
against the wall and berated myself for being stupid.
Mom had always told me they weren't good friends.
She'd warned me many times. Had I listened?
No. I'd wanted to prove to her that
I was grown up, could handle myself, and knew what I was
doing. And what did I have to show for
it? I was isolated, stranded in some
hellscape nightmare with my only two friends having left me high
and dry. The second things went S 2
Gentle hands smoothed over my trembling shoulders, and Doctor
O'Brien knelt beside me. Hey, it's OK.
You're OK. Just take deep breaths for me.
I couldn't see. Hot tears coated my face and my
nose ran like a faucet. Your phone.
I I think I could cracked it. I'm sorry.
I don't. She pulled me closer in a warm,
soft hug and patted my back between shoulder blades.
It's just a phone. You've been through a lot.
I'd be upset too. She held me until the tears
stopped and guided me back to my bed to hand me a box of tissues.
My fingers pulsed and I could see the torn skin bleeding, the
flesh around them red and swollen.
Did I break it? I whispered, embarrassed, as the
doctor inspected my poor hand. I don't think so.
Doctor. O'Brien poked at my fingers
until I winced in pain. But these knuckles are going to
swell like golf balls now. At least you didn't punch the
fridge door or we'd be looking at a broken wrist.
I'll clean these cuts and get you some ice.
The soft swish of a door opening caught my attention and from the
opposite side of the room a girl walked into view.
Her arms were full of folded clothes and a pair of scuffed
tan colored hiking boots hung by their laces from 1 elbow.
She wore close fitting khaki pants tucked into combat boots
and a black polo shirt. A leather pistol belt sat atop
her hips, adorned with numerous small pouches and the black grip
of a handgun stuck out of a holster on her right side.
A long knife in its sheath hung from the opposite hip, and I
recognized the bleach blonde hair of the girl who had helped
rescue me. Our eyes met and she beamed in
similar recognition. Hey, you're still kicking.
Wow, that hand looks rough. My face almost melted with
shame, and Doctor O'Brien threw the girl a stern raised eyebrow.
Look, Hannah, this is Jamie Lanson.
She's one of the Rangers who brought you in.
All in a good day's work. Jamie winked at me, and her
expression softened a little at seeing the tear streaks on my
face. You're pretty lucky, you know.
Chris insisted on searching the shoes after his flashlight
glinted off your camera. If it weren't for him, we never
would have found you sniffling. I nodded and tried to bring his
face up in my mind. Those sapphire colored eyes, his
rugged jawline, but it was hard to focus.
With the throbbing in my hand and the sting of betrayal still
burning in my chest. Jamie shuffled closer and held
out the clothes. These are mine, but I've got
more so you can have them. You should fit, since you're
smaller than me. And look, I even dug up a pack
of underwear brand new the way she said it, so optimistically
and yet undoubtedly knowing that such a thing was hardly
noteworthy struck me as funny somehow, and I couldn't help but
grin. As an only child, I'd always
wondered what it would have been like to have siblings,
especially sisters. Someone to talk to, confide in,
and share with. Mom and Dad were pretty tight
lipped about their reasons for only having me, but in the
moment, it felt nice to imagine having a cool older sister like
Jamie to defend me at school. She'd probably have decked those
preppy downtown girls in their upturned noses.
That'd be fun to see. Her own grin flashed wry and
pleased across Jamie's sharp face.
There's that smile. See, I knew you were tough.
Those brain shredders better watch out for you.
My eyebrows must have gone clear to the ceiling.
Brain shredders. The creature that almost killed
you, Doctor O'Brien, pulled a clipboard of the foot of my bed
and scribbled something down on it.
It's a sigh, organic, one of the rarest and most dangerous
anomalies that exists. It works off telekinesis and
psycho manipulation, immobilizing prey and scrambling
their neural firing patterns before ingesting their body.
Basically, a mental hand grenade with mold issues.
Jamie chimed in and crossed her arms to throw me an inquisitive
look. But you brought it down from 10
yards away, no less. My throat scratched dry again,
and I wished I'd saved some of my water from earlier.
I I had a dog whistle around my neck.
One of those electric ones. I just pushed it, and then
everything went blank. Both Doctor O'Brien and Jamie
blinked at me, stunned. You killed a brain shredder at
close range, Jamie repeated, pointing a finger at each
imaginary word, like she wanted to be sure she'd heard me
correctly with a doggy beeper. My face burned and I dragged my
eyes down at my lap. I I didn't have anything else.
Doctor O'Brien and Jamie both exchanged surprised, delighted
smiles. Impressive.
Doctor O'Brien scratched something else down on her
clipboard. Badass.
Jamie shook her bleach blonde head, emerald green eyes
glittering with approval and pointed to the clothes in my
arms. I definitely want to hear that
story later. Come on, get dressed and I'll
show you around. Doctor.
O'Brien threw her a sideways glance.
Be careful with this one, all right, Lanson, she needs to
rest. No crazy stunts for a few days
minimum. Crazy stunts.
Jamie winked and headed for the door to give me some privacy.
I think this one might finally be crazier than me.
Pulling on my new clothes proved to be tricky with how sore my
chest was, but I managed. Dr. O'Brien helped lace my boots
for me and gave me some Tylenol before walking me to the door of
the clinic. I'll check in with you every so
often. She patted my arm with a
gentleness that eased some of my jangled nerves.
If you need anything, my door is always open.
I made a grateful smile. Thanks.
She strode back into the dimly lit interior of the clinic, and
just as I turned to go, something caught my eye.
A door stood not far to my right, slightly ajar through the
crack between the door jamb and the door itself.
I could just make out a room beyond with tables, shelves, and
various pieces of laboratory equipment.
Dim blue light filled the space and I figured it to be some kind
of ultraviolet lamp to keep bacteria at Bay.
I almost shrugged it off until I saw the eyes.
Two Milky white eyes gleamed back at me from the shadows,
unblinking and wide with a strange mania.
Dark, greasy hair floated around the still pale face and a slack
jaw displayed stubby peg shaped teeth.
Black nylon straps ran under the armpits of the creature holding
it suspended, and I realized that the thing was surrounded by
some kind of clear fluid in a large, upright tank.
Everything all right, Doctor? O'Brien watched me from a few
feet away, her face partially obscured by shadow.
I could have sworn I saw something like a curious glint
in her eyes, but the moment passed too quick for me to be
certain I'm fine. I blurted and pushed my way
through the double doors. Somehow plunging into a
forgotten corner of Appalachia felt safer than being in that
room, with its humming machines, chlorine smell and something
horrible trapped within walls of glass.